


Stuck In The Military

by Broba



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, M/M, Military, Military Fetish, Military Ranks, Military Uniforms, Multi, Survival Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme prompt- Karkat has had a hard time making it in the Alternian military, alongside Equius, but the cost of survival is steep and everyone who makes it must pay the same price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
The grand armada capital vessel lurked into orbit around Alternia like a slow, quiet behemoth. Even so close to home strict military rigour was enforced at all times, and the ship did not come out of silent running until the mission time had formally ended and the vessel was officially off-duty. At a word from the commanding officer running lights blazed and navigational beacons winked into view, and the full bulk of her was lit up, aggressively displaying her lethal form as if temptin all enemies to try their luck.  
  
Within the command section which was itself nestled safely deep in the metal breast of the vessel, all quarters sounded their status and the ship stood down from the disciplined state that had clamped down on the men for months. There was a noticeable wave of relaxation that hit the crew, more then  
they felt when victory was declared over Trancia, more then they felt when the vessel plunged into faster-then-light safely and departed the warzone, more even then on seeing the first glimpse of Alternia the motherworld on their screens. Only now, when the Old Man had given the nod and the mission was concluded according to the logs, could they actually breathe out and relax.  
  
The ship would orbit Alternia and be refitted with the latest weaponry and systems upgrades, along with replacements for the soldiers and arms that were the inevitable cost of conflict. The motherworld itself was no place for military training- the motherworld was to be kept clean and pure at all times. Only the young lived their, and whatever knowledge and experience they gained on the harsh world of their birth would either see them through their training and the battles to come, or else they would die out in the empire.  
  
Ships were already lifting off from the surface with the new recruits. They were fully automated, and there was no going back. The moment an Alternian stepped aboard their first transport up to the vessel that would be their home and their duty, their life on the motherworld was over. According to tradition they were permitted one long, last glance backwards at the steel-grey plains of the motherworld, which was the closest they would come to the soil of their birth again. As the shuttles docked, they would split their wide metal bellies and disgorge an assortment of wide-eyed blinking youths into a new and very different reality. They had lived largely solitary and chaotic lives fighting with each other to survive but they had to learn how to live lives as a corps, living and fighting for one another's survival. The hard lessons they needed had to be driven in deep, and fast.  
  
The concourse of the loading bay was an enormous space easily able to accommodate several of the huge shuttles, four of which were taxiing into position and making ready to disgorge their cargoes. Opposite from the line of shuttles a few soldiers waited patiently, draped casually over a spill of cargo containers and pipework. Long experienced in the military mindset, they took every momentary fraction of comfort they could grab when they weren't under the watchful eye of their superiors. They were all staff-sergeants, and waiting for their new intake of students to take into their tender embraces. Chattering away in low voices two men casually rated the chances of their charges.  
  
“I got a full hundred this time,”  
“The full hundo? Fuck off, really?”  
“Yup.”  
“How long's it been?”  
“Shit, uh, three tours I think, and before that two more since I had a hundo.”  
“Must've been a good season then.”  
“Yeah, or shitty lusii lettin' too many live.”  
  
That was the dichotomy. It was a conversation they had all endured many times before, and would repeat many times again, lacking anything more of substance to say to one another. A large haul of recruits meant an unusually good sweep for breeding caverns when they were born or else, and this seemed to be the majority opinion, things were far easier for the kids these days and they were going to be saddled with a crowd of weaklings. Beside the two who were talking, another sergeant was carefully rolling a sprinkle of Trancian tobacco into a slip of paper, that he licked and rolled into a tube. It was a habit he had picked up on the last campaign and to his mind the tobacco was just about the only good thing to come out of that entire stink hole of a planet. He tilted his head into his cupped hands and lit the cigarette, taking a thoughtful drag.  
  
“What do you reckon then, on the casualties?”  
“Reckon I'll hit eighty this year,” eighty per-cent, he meant. Eight in ten men surviving the tour.  
“Lookit this, mister big fuckin' shot. Gonna take a bullet for your boys?”  
“Naw. Just gonna give 'em the benefit of my superior wisdom and teaching methods. What was your rating on the Trancian tour again?”  
“Eh. I got some shitty recruits.”  
“Straight fifty, I heard, right?”  
“Yeah. Shitty recruits.” Fifty per-cent of them dead.  
“All right then boys,” the sergeant grunted and swivelled to face the others, “time to put some money on it. Who's in?”  
“Fuck yeah, I'm in, this is my tour.”  
“Month's pay?” He pointed to his friend and then the others, asking the same question, “month? Put a month on it?”  
  
The others agreed with a grunt or a nod. The smoker nodded curtly. Whoever got the most recruits home won a month's worth of pay from each of the others. Such bets were, of course, against regulation but the higher-ups approved of the competitive element and it was seen as good for morale.  
  
One of the sergeants coughed and gave a little nod of his head, indicating to the others that an officer was approaching. In small, subtle ways they all straightened up slightly and all talk of betting was cut off sharply. Across the concourse an officer approached the group who all stood up to salute. It was the Group Captain, a notoriously picky and ramrod-straight down the line man who stood on every point of regulation and discipline. He was tall, taller then the sergeants he approached, and his uniform with the sky-blue piping of command was neatly pressed and spotless. He carried his officer's cap under one arm with his gloves folded smartly over his belt. He would have been the perfect example of flawless perfection were it not for the broken horn and the field shades he always wore, which always seemed to have at least one crack in the lenses. The sergeants all saluted as one, and held it until the group captain returned it.  
  
“Gentlemen,” he demurred softly. The sergeants remained quiet, “all is in readiness?”  
“Sir!”  
“Sir!”  
“Sir!”  
“Sir!”  
Captain Zahaak nodded curtly and extended a finger toward the sergeant who still had a lit cigarette  tucked in the corner of his mouth.  
“A word, if I may.”  
“Sir!”  
  
The two of them marched away toward a quiet corner in the lee of a bulkhead, and the remaining sergeants shared a look.  
“At ease,” said Equius softly and the sergeant smoothly moved into the official ease position, otherwise unmoved.  
“Sir.”  
“New recruits. It's a special day.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“How's the betting?”  
“Betting, sir?”  
“On the recruits.”  
“That would be against regulations, sir,” the sergeant flickered something that might have been a shadow of a grin, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.  
“And if it wasn't,” said Equius patiently, “how would it look?”  
“Lanius is right in there, he's come off a good streak and got a seventy last tour and he's thinking eighty this time.”  
“What's his chances?”  
The sergeant held up a hand and see-sawed it in midair silently. Equius nodded.  
“I see. Anything else?”  
“Crexer just wants to come off a bad run, he hasn't got above sixty in at least three tours,”  
“Reckon he'll do it?”  
The sergeant gave a slightly pained expression, thinking it over, and shook his head.  
“I see.”  
“Kallin is a good man and he's in with a shot, but Lanius is the one to beat.”  
“Sounds like you don't rate yourself.”  
“A smart man never rates himself.”  
“But you're still in on the betting, right?”  
The sergeant didn't say anything, unwilling to admit openly to knowing anything.  
“I see. When did you start with those things?” Equius nodded at the cigarette.  
“Not long, on the last tour. Good for the nerves.”  
“I'll have to try it.”  
  
The small-talk had dried up. The sergeant knew well when his group captain had something on his mind, and there was no point trying to pry it out of him, Equius would talk when he was good and ready and, like a good military man, the sergeant was willing to stand there at ease till doomsday waiting on the captain's pleasure. Equius finally looked up at him. Despite the shades, Equius felt that the sergeant had mastered a blank impassivity he could only aspire to.  
  
“Can I speak to you off the record?”  
“The captain can speak as he chooses.”  
“Vantas, I'm serious.”  
Karkat looked at him warily, moving the cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other, and raised a brow.  
“How long have we been up here Vantas?”  
“Dunno. Uh, four... five tours?”  
“Something like that. I'd been on two tours already when you came up, you remember?”  
“Yes.”  
“I looked after you back then, you know.”  
Karkat sighed, a little uncomfortably, “yes, sir.”  
“Damn it all Karkat I'm trying to talk to you plainly here.”  
“Sir.” Karkat did his best, and softened slightly, “yes.”  
“I know I was hard on you when it was your time. I'd like to think that you learned something from it, and maybe that's why you're alive today.”  
“You're here to collect? Want thanks, now?”  
“Listen,” Equius looked about, suddenly a little furtive, “when was the last time you saw Gamzee?”  
Karkat looked up sharply, “what's that supposed to mean?”  
“It means,” Equius exhaled softly, “he's on one of those shuttles, right now.”  
“You're fucking- no! How does that happen?”  
Equius shrugged, “he might age slower then us, but his time comes same as anyone else's. Word is, even the purple-bloods have their standards and Gamzee doesn't meet them. So no fast-track to officer school, he's here with the rest of the grunts.”  
“How do you know this?”  
“Look, I know and you don't need to know how I know. I don't know how you... feel about it... but. Listen. Shuttle four. You can do what you like with that information.”  
  
Equius was staring at him. Faintly, though the smoked lenses of his shades Karkat could see his eyes unwavering. Equius reached out and clasped his shoulder briefly, and Karkat nodded. There was the sound of a klaxon and the shuttled began disbarkment procedures. Karkat winced and looked over, glancing back at Equius with a new found set of emotions plastered across his eyes.  
  
“Equius, I... thank you. For this. And for,” he took a breath, “everything.”  
“Go on, do what you have to.”  
  
Karkat ran over to the others as they were making their way across the concourse. He drew in close and made his way firmly toward shuttle four before the others, who just shrugged and went to meet their recruits. The shuttle was a huge afraid dominated by a bloated round frontsection surmounted by a tiny command module, and now the frontsection opened to extrude a ramp and allow the new recruits to wander out blankly. None of them knew what to expect, although in every intake there were always a few who thought they did. Karkat ran trained eyes over the recruits and picked out a few who he would pay special attention to. The dangerous ones were always the ones who thought they knew everything already. They might have brought a weapon or two, they might think that they would walk military service. There would be a couple who genuinely believed that they were born warriors because they had held a weapon or two, and those were the ones that Karkat had to break first. That attitude would not only get them killed but also the men around them, and there was no time to waste in singling them out. He couldn't see Gamzee, but it was a large crowd and he could have been anywhere. And, Equius could have been wrong. Since Karkat's own harsh training at Equius' hands they had barely spoken except in a professional sense, it seemed somehow unreal to see the group captain acting like a being with real feelings for once.  
  
“Stan' UP! 'Tenn-HAA!” Roared Karkat, “on your fucking FEET, stand up STRAIGHT!”  
He indicated a line scored into the paintwork of the deck beneath his feet.  
“Get your fucking toes on that line, I want a look at the miserable pieces of shit my beloved empire has dumped on me this time! I am sergeant Vantas, and from now on I am your fucking GOD.”  
  
The recruits looked at each other and generally shambled into position. Across from them, the other new groups of recruits were getting similar treatment. Karkat picked one likely looking lad who was taking a wide-eyed look around and backhanded him across the face hard enough to make him stagger.  
  
“Something got your attention, recruit? Take a good fucking look at those lucky sons of fucks over there, they all got the good sergeants! They all in the arms of caring motherfuckers looking to shepherd their sorry asses home! They all gonna have a fucking easy-ass ride on this trip! But not you, you boys and girls got me. And I,” Karkat leered at them cruelly, he had practised that leer, “I fucking hate every one of you. I've scraped dung off my boots that I had a higher fucking regard for then you FUCKS.”  
  
The man he had backhanded whimpered slightly, so Karkat kicked him to the ground and moved on. Better to let them think he was ready to abuse them at every turn, it was the only way that they would learn to stay alert at all times no matter what.  
  
“RECRUIT!” He screamed into the chin of a troll fully a head taller then he was, “what's your NAME, recruit?”  
“SIR!” Bellowed the man, “recruit Foxard, SIR!”  
“Well holy fucking damn, who ever taught you how to address a superior, Foxard?”  
“Sir! I've been training all my life for this sir!”  
“Fuck me up the ass and call me precious! This here military genius has been training all his fucking life is that so, recruit Foxard?”  
“Sir, yes sir!” The man was beaming, he clearly felt that he was in the right place. Karkat despised that.  
“Then in that case you will not mind explaining to the recruits what their first duty is now that they have disbarked onto my glorious motherfucking vessel of righteous vengeance and fiery destruction, will you Foxard?”  
“S-sir?”  
“Clearly there's no need for me to say another motherfucking word while we have Foxard here to lead us, is that not so?”  
“Sir I- uh, do you mean- sir?”  
“DID I make myself clear Foxard?”  
“Yes, I mean, sir! I don't understand sir!”  
“Tell these recruits their first duty, Foxard! I gave you a motherfucking ORDER! I am not a RHETORICAL MOTHERFUCKER. What is the first DUTY of MY fucking RECRUITS?”  
The man was by now visibly wilting under the oppression of the screaming Karkat.  
“The first duty,” began the quivering Foxard, tying to remember what he had read as a boy when he had surrounded himself in glorious tales of conquest and empire, “the, the recruit's first-”  
“Shut the fuck up Fucktard,” yelled Karkat, instantly emblazoning the recruit with his new and permanent nickname.  
  
Karkat strode back three paces and faced his recruits, running his eyes over the line slowly, but still he couldn't pick out Gamzee. There were one or two- perhaps in the horns, or the posture, but had it really been so long that the face of his moirail didn't leap out to him?  
  
“The first last and only duty of the recruit is to stay QUIET and do NOTHING until someone who has earned the right to call themselves a living thinking breathing being TELLS them what to do. You will know when you are dealing with such a glorious personage because they will be a man of RANK, of which you have NONE, on account of you are USELESS creatures!  
“You will obey all signs and notices. If a door says do not enter you will not enter it. If a panel is marked 'emergency only' you will not fucking TOUCH it. If a pipe carries a warning you will not fucking sit on it and act surprised when you rupture a critical power line!  
“Until I am satisfied that you are WORTHY of being called soldiers, you are NOTHING! You will REMAIN nothing until that unlikely day, should it ever fucking come, and if you FAIL me then you will not be given a chance to also FAIL my beloved empire with your WORTHLESSNESS.  
“Gentlemen make no mistake. Your shame globes are collectively within my iron-clad fist and I am not a gentle lover. If you displease me I will shoot a new nook-hole into you and fuck my bulge dry. I will break you, but only because I desire to make you BETTER. I will be cruel, and  you will learn to survive great CRUELTY. I will be hard, and you will learn to tolerate great HARSHNESS. When my training is complete you will look back on your former selves and feel SICKENED that you dared besmirch this proud engine of destruction with the weak and pitiable FUCKS I see before me!”  
  
The recruits had gone pale. Karkat had firmly impressed upon them that their expectations and experience were nothing to him, and that they would be treated to a harsh and brutal tutelage. A few of them were openly weeping and Karkat again picked a victim, marching up to a man who flinched and rapidly wiped his cheek.  
  
“RECRUIT!” Bellowed Karkat, “do I see a sickening display on emotion on your fucking face?”  
“S-sir! I just-”  
“Shut your filth chute you PATHETIC waste of bucket leavings! Does it alarm you to know your life is now worth NOTHING?”  
The man straightened up slightly, earning a note in Karkat's mental log, “yes sir!”  
“Do those tears indicate that you have realised a little sooner then these other MORONS that your previous life and everything you knew is now GONE?”  
“Sir?”  
“Moirail and matesprit- if you have 'em, FORGET 'em. You HAD your chance, and now that time is OVER. If you survive your training and deployment, if they survive theirs, then perhaps IF you make it you will get a chance to see them once more. My GLORIOUS and beloved empire is KIND like that. But have no illusions, recruits, they are going through all you are going through and maybe worse. Get used to they idea that everyone you knew is dead, or as good as dead. You are MINE now, and I am your entire fucking WORLD.”  
  
Karkat had to stop himself. He was starting to read his own thoughts into this, and that was bad. Enough to let them know that they were in a new place now with new lives. The fact that he had met Equius was unusual enough, if Gamzee was here then it was complicated. Naturally his duty to the empire came first and foremost- the recruits had been presumably visited by the imperial drones by now and their lives ahead contained combat and death, not reproduction. Though it was not unknown for people to find postings alongside those from their former lives, it was frowned upon to focus on such things.  
  
Karkat marched to the head of the line and held up a hand.  
“The recruits will fall in and march, time to get bunked down in your nice warm barracks! MOVE!”  
  
He led the way, just as Lanius, Crexer and Kallin were leading their own trembling new meat, and directed the recruits to their communal barracks where they would live and sleep in close quarters from now on. Only the barest of privacy was permitted, and it would be psychologically unsettling to them but better to get it out of the way fast. There would be a few freak-outs on the first night, always a couple of screamers, but they would get used to it fast or find themselves redeployed somewhere worse. It was an ironclad law: there's always somewhere worse to be sent.  
  
As the recruits filed miserably into the barracks Karkat took the roll call and noted down the recruits under his command. He surreptitiously glanced at each one in passing. There was one who shuffled along, tall and rangy with wild hair. He had kept his face down throughout the briefing and stayed quiet. Karkat frowned.  
  
“RECRUIT!” He bellowed. They all froze, and he wandered up and nudged the man in the chest sharply, “NAME. I didn't catch it.”  
The man mumbled something and Karkat shoved him, he collided with a metal locker sharply and cried out.  
“NAME!”  
“Recruit Makara sir! F-fuck!”  
  
Karkat nodded and strode to the door.  
“Lights out in fifteen, get settled and get fucking asleep.”  
  
He slammed the door after him and almost collapsed. He was breathing hard and he had started to sweat. Karkat gritted his teeth and fumbled with his tobacco pouch, his fingers shaking as he made up another cigarette. After all this time, it was definitely him. Gamzee. Karkat lit his cigarette and took a long pull off it.  
  
His moirail was strong, but the military would grind him up unless he got a lot fucking stronger. Karkat knew it, because he was the one who was going to do the grinding. He clenched his eyes shut and smashed his fist against the metal wall in frustration. Gamzee!  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The engineering works to bring the ship up to current military specification were in progress and kept the vessel locked in orbit, for a planned furlough but there was no break for the new recruits. From the very first day aboard they were expected to begin a ceaseless training regimen, each unit under the watchful eye of a sergeant and all under the care of the GC, group captain Zahaak.  
  
The first days of training were largely taken up with orientation and drills. The recruits were marched from one end of the ship to the other and given a rough overview of each area, along with a series of increasingly complex manuals an organisational documents to read and absorb. By the time they were formally incorporated into the ship's company they were expected to know her intimately and be able to take on nonessential ship's crew roles in an emergency as short-term support crew. To this end, the recruits had to learn to dress and repaint corroded deck plates, prepare regulation meals, rewire shorted power lines and all manner of small menial tasks before they were ever allowed near to a weapon.  
  
Sergeant Vantas drilled the males and females under his command with brutal efficiency, screaming mercilessly at any slacker or malingerer and demanding a level of perfection in every task that seemed impossible. He took a great relish in explaining to the troops exactly how unfair he was being to them, and how they had nothing to say or do about it. In short order he had drilled into all of them the absolutely arbitrary nature of his power over them and all of the recruits were completely under his thumb. He would leap upon the slightest hesitation or infraction in an instant and was prepared to call off an entire exercise in order to spend time berating and punishing them.  
  
The troops all wore the same uniform grey jumpsuit at all times, they were issued with three of them and were expected to adhere to a strict cleaning and laundry regimen. At the beginning of each day they were lined up and Vantas would stalk along them, watching out for the slightest flaw in any of their appearance.  
  
“Good fucking morning, what a fine wake-cycle we are all going to ENJOY together!” He roared, marching slowly along the line of rigid recruits, each of which stared blankly ahead at attention.  
“Today we will begin with double drills as I am appalled by your failure to grasp even the simplest of forms! My fellow sergeants LAUGH at me for having such a ragged indisciplined troop at my command, I fully intend to take this out on you! I will squeeze you miserable SHITS through a ringpiece of pain until you get it fucking RIGHT.”  
  
He paused, and went quiet. The hush, if anything, deepened over the men. Karkat had a practised way of expressing his displeasure in these moments. He would stop, and stare straight ahead. The men knew he had perceived some fractional problem and that he was about to bring down his wrath upon the head of some luckless recruit. He made a habit of stopping equidistantly between two recruits, so that it was not clear who exactly he had singled out. Perhaps he would pace forwards to one of the recruits before him, perhaps he would retreat to one he had just passed, he gave no hint. Karkat took a step forwards.  
  
Next, he smartly placed the toe of one boot on the deck at a level with the opposing heel. He lifted that heel slightly and with a slight effort he pivoted exactly ninety degrees to his left. The effect from the point of view of the recruit he had singled out was to see the baleful form of the sergeant smoothly rotate towards them with a grim inevitability that only made the oncoming brutality worse.  
  
“Recruit!” Snapped Karkat.  
“SIR!”  
  
The recruit was called Corese and she had, on the whole, escaped the worst of Karkat's wrath thus far. Her luck had evidently run dry on this day. Karkat made a show of looking her up and down in frank incredulity.  
  
“Have I done something to offend you, recruit?”  
“Sir! Nossir!”  
“Have I perhaps inflamed your ire through some personal slight, recruit?”  
“Sir! Nossir!”  
“Perhaps you will explain then, why you have chosen to denigrate the glorious uniform of my beloved empire like this, if not in some attempt to besmirch all that I hold FUCKING DEAR?”  
“Sir! Nossir!”  
“That was not a yes-or-no question, recruit!”  
“Sir!”  
“Do you think you can OFFEND the empire with your sloppy IMITATION of shipboard recruit dress in this manner, recruit?”  
“Sir! Nossir!”  
“Recruit! Look down!”  
She did.  
“Recruit! Describe to me the state of your shipboard recruit boot, left, standard!”  
“Sir! The recruit is wearing a shipboard recruit boot, left, standard, sir! The lacing is not properly tucked, sir!”  
“Recruit! Is it acceptable to present to fall-in with your shipboard recruit boot, left, standard, in such a state?”  
“Sir! Nossir!”  
Karkat's voice escalated to a high-pitched shriek, “FUCKING FIX IT!”  
“SIR!”  
  
Corese ducked down to properly tuck the loop of her boot lacing into the cuff of her shipboard recruit boot, left, standard in the properly prescribed manner as per the manual of shipboard procedures. When she had done it, she stood rigidly to attention again, silently.  
  
Karkat nodded. “Fifty pushups, COUNT 'EM OUT.”  
He stalked away while she dropped and began performing pushups on the deck plating, counting rhythmically. The recruits were not yet whipped into the physical shape expected of them and Karkat knew well that she would have difficulty reaching that number, and certainly not maintaining the rate she was setting, but she would not for an instant dream of disobeying.  
  
Deep down, Karkat was pleased. She was neither responding to him nor attempting to unravel his deliberately obfuscating statements, she was stood to attention acknowledging her superior and offering nothing in return that was not anything she had been trained to offer. The mind-set was coming. Every detail of uniform and dress had to be perfect, and not just because the manual said so. In time, the recruits would be pulling on vacuum suits and combat armour, and their survival depended on forming these habits of getting every detail exactingly correct. The recruits would learn to follow procedures without questioning and without thinking, and have absolute faith in the knowledge that trolls far more clever and higher on the chain of command had put those procedures in place for a reason.  
  
At the end of the line he passed recruit Makara, as he he knew he eventually must. Continuing to harangue the recruits with details of the intense and difficult day ahead of them, his heart sank as he came closer and picked out error after error in Gamzee's appearance. They had not had a moment together since training had begun, and Karkat couldn't risk addressing him as anything other then a lowly recruit in front of the others- it would invite disaster and the utter break down of his authority. As much as he wanted only to protect his moirail he knew as a sergeant that the recruit was, in the short time they had been training, already a massive failure. Gamzee hadn't shown the slightest recognition of him, and for that Karkat was grateful as it saved him having to beat his moirail into silence. Gamzee drifted, he looked like he was still on the slime even though Karkat knew for a fact that every single item the recruits brought aboard and all of their intimate personal locations were probed and scanned for the tiniest grain of contraband on boarding. The tall, rangy recruit before him seemed to be half in another world and if he remembered anything from their time together before, on Alternia, then Gamzee either didn't want to or couldn't bring himself to talk about it.  
  
“Makara!” Roared Karkat, and he saw Gamzee visibly stiffen. That was a bad sign, by now the recruits should all have started to enter a state of heightened alertness as soon as he was nearby.  
“Sir!” It was sloppy. It wasn't the sharp exhalation of noise born of both fear and respect.  
“Recruit Makara, are we disturbing you? Maybe you'd like a little bit of a nap before we go on?”  
“Uh, Sir!”  
“Recruit Makara! Take a good fucking look at yourself and tell me the FIVE things you have missed when getting fucking DRESSED today!”  
  
Gamzee looked down in incomprehension. He obviously thought that he was looking pretty good. To Karkat's trained eye, every miss-seated button, every less-then-perfectly zipped closure, was blatant. Karkat sighed inwardly. There was nothing else for it. In every group there was always the weak link, the one who just wasn't getting it as fast as the others, and a good sergeant knew that it wasn't enough to whip that one into shape- the other recruits had to do it too. This was where the pride of the corps came from, when the member of the troop learned not to tolerate less then perfection in their brothers and sisters just as much as they knew their sergeant would not tolerate imperfection in them.  
  
“Recruit Makara seems to feel that he is held to a different standard to the rest of you FUCKS,” screeched Karkat, “that brings down the standard of you ALL. Today we are on TRIPLE drills before we BEGIN to get to work. You can all thank recruit Makara here. FALL OUT.”  
  
Karkat knew what was coming as sure as he knew the beats and rhythms of shipboard life to the microsecond. He hated himself bitterly for inflicting it upon his own moirail but there was no choice, it was either that or take matters into his own hands and punish Gamzee personally. He knew that an element of cowardice on his own part was involved. Letting the recruits harsh Gamzee into shape spared him from having to hurt his moirail directly, and he still wasn't sure that he could bring himself to do that.  
  
Karkat watched the recruits, his recruits, march obediently out and refused to let his shoulders slump or a sigh escape his chest. Gamzee just trudged away with the rest of them, miserably. He wanted nothing more than to scoop hi moirail into his arms and tell him that it would be all right, that things were going to go back to the way they were, but he couldn't do that either. Karkat was starting to wonder if he was really able to do anything at all.


	3. Chapter 3

The training fields were an area of cargo bay set aside for that purpose and modelled to represent a natural environment such as the troops might face on a number of worlds. The environmental variables could be adjusted at will, from harsh blistering desert to icy tundra, even to hard vacuum. The recruits spent day after day on the training field, learning how to march, how to advance or retreat, the proper way to set up a field position and defend it, the proper way to respond to an ambush as either four man squads or an armoured column of soldiers.  
  
Over time they began to view the terrain in a new light. No longer were they surrounded by rocks and scree, hilly rises or sprays of vegetation. Now they saw cover danger, passable ground and that which would not support the weight of a hundred vac-boots. Karkat drilled them mercilessly and, it seemed, endlessly. Their bodies began to accept new ways of moving and feeling that he put into them and, incredibly, there reached a point at which the first drill did not instantly exhaust them and they could go on. They pushed harder, faster and further as their bodies started to harden.  
  
The men were always a mass, never an individual. The mass would have a designated leader who would act as the brain of the whole, and the members of the mass would obey the commands of their leader without question. Karkat mounted a rise and held up a hand, barking out an order to get the attention of the recruits. They had been taking a rest-break in the lee of a wide hillock of rocky scrub which was blasted with freezing wind that Karkat had little difficult shouting over.  
  
“To me!” He called, “move some fucking ASS!”  
  
He surveyed the troops as they fell in. He noticed that Gamzee was nursing one arm and favouring one leg as he fell in with the others sullenly. He hadn't heard a word of complaint out of him, but he knew that there had been beatings. Sometimes during sleep cycle he would wander down to the barracks, just to check on the recruits. He was comforted by the soft whirring of silent cocoons, safe in the knowledge that his recruits were tucked away safely, but sometimes they were awake after lights-out. He had heard them rip Gamzee from his cocoon and, in hushed but frantic whispers, berate him for the extra work he put on them. Gamzee never really defended himself beyond a few sheepish words, and then they beat him. The more Karkat trained them, the harder grew their fists, and conversely the more Gamzee could take.  
  
Karkat couldn't confront them about it. If he did, then things would have become strange, and the necessarily simple relationship between him and the men would be polluted. He had realised that he couldn't talk to any of the people below him, and his fellow sergeant-level soldiers had more then enough concerns with their own recruits to make time for him. He had, therefore, gone upwards and made an appointment to see his group captain.  
  
“Vantas,” Equius looked up from his desk at the sergeant saluting him, and put aside a paper, “what can I do for you?”  
“Group captain, I wanted to...” Karkat hesitated, “report on my recruits.”  
“Ah yes, I've been following the general progress reports. Lanius is going to introduce weapon drills in the next few cycles, did you know that.”  
“It doesn't surprise me sir, he is a good sergeant.”  
“His men don't think so, one of them tried to kill him already.”  
Karkat raised an eyebrow, but just nodded in acknowledgement. These things happened.  
  
Equius leaned back in his chair and unbuttoned the neck of his dress shirt, loosening his stiff officer's collar with two sharp tugs. It was an unspoken signal that they were moving into a less formal psychological space, and when Equius silently indicated the chair opposite him, Karkat sat down and drew his hands together in front of him on the desk, staring at his thumbs.  
  
“What happened, sir?” Asked Karkat.  
“Hm?”  
“Lanius.”  
“Oh. Yes, a recruit took a swing at him with a section of heavy piping. Quite clever really, apparently she took it from an engineering detail.”  
“How did he take it?”  
“He left her with both arms, if that's what you mean. She'll be out of the infirmary in a few days. Good man, too. Lanius sees command positions in her future.”  
Karkat nodded glumly. He couldn't say the same for his own men, though Foxard might have what it took when the edges were worn down off his character.  
“Glad to hear it, sir.”  
“Tell me Vantas, do you still have that Trancian tobacco?”  
“Sir.”  
“I might try a little.”  
  
Karkat pulled out his pouch, he had taken to preparing a few of the cigarettes in advance and offered one to Equius. He shook his head and produced a carved wooden pipe with a small bowl intricately detailed with some swirling pattern. Karkat passed him over the pouch and Equius filled the bowl.  
  
“A nice pipe, sir,” remarked Karkat. Equius had the stem between his lips and replied around it.  
“Mm. Got it on Vecca, that was just before Trancia. In fact one of my old unit carved it for me.”  
“The men look up to you, sir.”  
Equius nodded, admitting the simple truth of it, “they do.”  
  
They both lit up from a match Equius provided and sat for a time, pondering the wreaths of smoke that lifted slowly up and away from them, trailing off inevitably toward the air ventilator grille in the corner.  
  
“How is he?” Asked Equius flatly.  
“I don't know. He doesn't seem to recognise me. If it were any other recruit I might send him off to psyche for an eval.”  
“Why don't you?”  
Karkat looked up sharply into Equius' eyes. He wasn't wearing his shades, and his eyes looked piercingly blue.  
“I- it's not gone that far yet. He's handling basic drill fine, now.”  
“They might be able to help.”  
“Sir... could I ask something. Off the record.”  
Equius made a magnanimous gesture, taking in the whole office, “no record here, Karkat.”  
“Could you have put Nepeta into psyche, if you were in my position?”  
Equius didn't respond at first, Karkat noticed that the muscles bunched around the base of his neck corded tightly for a moment and his jaw worked around the pipe a little.  
“You know, I do not believe that I could. When I told you he was coming here, I half-expected you to make sure that you would not get him, so that you would not get into a position like this.”  
“Half-expected?”  
“Mm. But I know you, Karkat Vantas, so I suppose you're one who always just has to try. That's why I put you up for sergeant, you know, because I knew you wouldn't give up on your men.”  
“He's not my man. I mean, I don't know what he is any more.”  
“Karkat, did you ever see yourself leading people, moulding recruits, the way you do now when you first came aboard a ship?”  
“Eh-h-h. No.”  
“Now, do you think that's something I put in you, or was it something in you all along that came out when things were right?”  
Karkat coloured slightly and shook his head uncertainly. Equius continued.  
“Everything you are now, you always had in you. That man has in him somewhere the Gamzee you knew, and also the Gamzee he's going to be. It's up to you to bring him along.”  
Karkat actually smiled a little. “You never used to be this smart, you know.”  
Equius shrugged and smiled around the pipestem. “Perhaps. Back then we were all immature, though. You were a bossy little shit, for instance.”  
He reached across the desk and cupped Karkat's clenched fists in his own hands, in a gesture of solidarity. Karkat looked up into his eyes and nodded.  
“I'll get through to him, sir.”  
“I know. Tell me if you need anything.”  
“Sir.”  
  
Karkat straightened up on the rise and looked out over his men gather below. They stared up at him blankly, alert to his every command or gesture.  
“At EASE,” he roared. As one, a hundred left feet stamped the ground a prescribed distance from a hundred right feet and the men assumed the relaxed position. Karkat took a moment, surveying his recruits.  
“When I first saw you FUCKS puked out of a shuttle onto my beautiful SHIP, I thought you were the single worst bunch of SHIT I had ever SEEN.”  
The men took this with equanimity.  
“NOW,” he went on, “I see before me a collection of BAD FUCKING NEWS for any bastard stupid enough to get in our WAY.” He raised his voice to a proper troll roar.  
“Who wins the BATTLE?”  
“WE WIN THE BATTLE!”  
“Who wins the WAR?”  
“WE WIN THE WAR!”  
“Who's BETTER then us?”  
“NO FUCKING ONE.”  
“Who's BADDER then us?”  
“NOT A FUCKING ONE.”  
  
It was a prescribed shout, they had one it before and would do it again, but they were starting to believe it. Every time a little louder, every time a little more synchronised. Karkat welled with pride, and caught sight of Gamzee with his brothers and sisters, roaring along with them. He had no hope of bringing the past back to life, he knew that now, but then perhaps one day they would share some words of solidarity across a desk as fellow soldiers.  
  
“'Ten HAAA!” He yelled. The men snapped to attention like a thunderclap. “Recruits will assemble at muster point Alcard and prepare for weapons training. MOVE it SHIT FUCKS!”  
  
The time had come for weapons drill at last. This was considered to be the point at which the recruits were no longer learning how to play grab-ass in the shower and learning to be soldiers. By necessity, recruits were not given weaponry until they could be trusted to follow orders properly, this was a matter of simple expedience as a weapons misfire or accident aboard ship could rapidly spread from a disaster to a tragedy. There was simply no margin for error or uncertainty, and Karkat knew it. He felt that he had to show some trust in Gamzee sooner or later, and besides that he was starting to formulate a plan.  
  
The recruits assembled at the muster point where a sergeant quartermaster waited with the supplies. Every weapon and every grain of ammunition was accounted for, each recruit had to provide a thumbprint before taking their allotted weapon, on the understanding that from that moment to the end of their career the time and place of every single shot fired by that weapon could be traced directly back to them.  
  
“Recruits!” Shouted Karkat, “what you hold in your hands is not a weapon.” The men shifted uncomfortably, waiting.  
“What you hold is a tool of righteous destruction, under the absolute control of the glorious and mighty Empire we all love and serve. What you hold in your hands is one component of an integrated and perfected weapon system which is called the modern troll soldier. It is no more a weapon then a single bullet or a single trigger, only when in the hands of a troll soldier does it become part of one.  
“You will learn to UNDERSTAND and RESPECT this weapon system that you are a part of. You will appreciate EVERY FUNCTION and DETAIL. You will memorise every ATOM of your gun with the same care and attention you lavish on your SHAME GLOBES every evening, recruits.”  
  
Some of the recruits glanced down at their weapon. They understood him. Karkat knew it, and launched into their training.  
  
“The item in your hands right now is a portable energy projector with a variable focus beam with a focal length measuring from three dioptres to twelve klicks. At three dioptres a beam will be focussed on a point in front of you close enough to burn through a wall or disembowel an enemy. At full focal-length you can bring down enemy aircraft. And make no mistake recruits, you can FUCK the SHIT out of anything in-between those distances.  
The VFLP-92(a) you hold in your hands can field an ammunition battery in either half or full size. You are currently equipped with ONE half size ammunition battery at present. When fully charged with this battery your VFLP-92(a) can maintain a constant beam for ten seconds.”  
  
Karkat took a deep breath and then yelled, “ARRRRRRRRRGH! That's how long you get, recruits, REMEMBER IT. Your VFLP-92(a) will not inform you that you have wasted your charge like a fucking MORON. Your VFLP92(a) will not inform you that you are about to be gutted by the charging FUCKER you failed to kill because you wasted your beam. KNOW IT. REMEMBER IT. LEARN, recruits.  
“Observe the fire-selector switch located above and to the left of the trigger. You may select continuous, burst, or single-shot modes. Your VFLP-92(a) will therefore dispense THIRTY equally spaced shots of equal power with thirty pulls of the trigger, in single-shot mode. I did not tell you this recruits, it is not in the manual, but you will not rely on the last FIVE shots because by that point there is a noticeable degradation of beam strength.  
“You get twenty-five good shots per half-size ammunition battery and believe me recruits that is not enough to win a war. You will rely on your brothers and sisters to cover your ASS when you are recharging and they will rely on YOU to mind your shots carefully and conserve your fire for when NECESSARY ONLY, in order to cover them in return.”  
  
Karkat glared balefully at the recruits, emphasising the message. They would all, in time, come under fire of various intensity and his job was to make sure that each and every one of them had a well-trained and competent brother or sister soldier beside them when that time came. He went through every detail with them while they stood shivering in the wind. He preferred to do it outdoors, where he knew the discomfort would keep them sharp. He went over how to care for their gun, hold their gun, assemble and disassemble their gun, in blistering short order. They were fumbling and awkward at first, which is why their weapons were locked on safety mode until he was happy.  
  
Karkat turned around to pick up the next piece of equipment, an all-weather rangefinder attachment, when there was a commotion behind him. Without warning Foxard pushed away from the others and levelled his VLFP-92(a) at Karkat and screamed.  
“Take it, fucker!”  
Karkat turned around smoothly and regarded the recruit pointing a deadly weapon at him, fully in the expectation that a squeeze of the trigger would drill a hole straight through Karkat's chest. Foxard was shaking with nerves and rage but, Karkat noted with a note of pride, total conviction in his eyes.  
“You got something you want to TELL me, recruit?” He bellowed, holding up a hand to signal the other recruits to stay back.  
“You FUCK! I'm gonna kuh, kill you!”  
“Lookin' pretty nervous there, recruit. Are you waiting for a signed INVITATION?”  
“The fuck are you talking about?”  
“If you're going to shoot someone,” said Karkat with deadly coolness, “then why would you tell them all about it first and not just get it over with?”  
“Fuck you!”  
“Recruit Foxard!” Karkat shouted, “you ARE a WEAPON! A troll soldier does not take aim until he is ready to KILL! Are you ready to KILL, recruit Foxard?”  
  
Foxard screamed and squeezed the trigger amateurishly. The VLFP-92(a) did not respond as the safeties kicked in and prevented it from firing. Karkat smiled horribly and addressed the men.  
  
“Recruit Foxard has demonstrated the proper HATE towards his enemy, this is GOOD and PROPER in a troll soldier! Unfortunately Fucktard here has chosen the WRONG FUCKING ENEMY on this day as his safeties are still engaged.”  
  
Karkat flicked the lock bolt open on his own rifle and tugged the connector pin into place over the energiser contact, snapping the bolt shut smartly with a practised motion eliciting a deadly rising hum from his weapon as it immediately charged to full killing power.  
  
“My safeties, however, are not.”  
  
Karkat was interrupted as someone else pulled away from the gathered and increasingly nervous mass of recruits. Recruit Gamzee Makara ran up to Foxard, sending pebbles and scree flying, and scythed a leg out, sweeping Foxard to the ground. His fist came around in a perfect arc to smash down against Foxard's chest, and Karkat heard as well as saw ribs crush inwards. In total a handful of seconds passed, and suddenly Foxard was broken and coughing blood on the ground under Gamzee who just stood there, looking down and then looking up at Karkat.  
  
“Don't kill him,” said Gamzee, “he's down now.”  
  
Karkat had fully intended on making an example of Foxard but killing had been the last thign on his mind, now his choices were limiting. “RECRUITS!” He bellowed, “stow weapons with the quartermaster and fall out right FUCKING NOW! Corese! Dayner! Apply field medication procedures! Makara, down on your fucking knees and hands behind your head!”  
  
Karkat levelled his rifle at Gamzee and they could all see he was not kidding and entirely capable. Gamzee silently knelt down while the recruits raced to obey. Karkat nudged the communicator box on the left breast of his uniform and called for a medic team to evacuate Foxard.  
  
“Makara!” He barked, “You're getting a week in the hole till I figure out what to fucking DO with you!”  
  
It was the opportunity he had been waiting for, ironically. At last he could get Gamzee alone.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The recruits were lined up on the firing range and practising their range finding and shooting skills. The standard troll infantry weapon, the VLFP-92(a), required the solder to learn to estimate distances accurately and quickly in concert with the automatic range finder in order to set the focal length of the beam for maximum delivery of energy onto target. This meant endless practising, and for the most part Karkat could now leave the recruits to it and keep an eye on the target reports after they had spent hours on the range.  
  
For this reason Karkat was now able to tear himself away from duty and head to the solitary confinement block where Gamzee was imprisoned. For assaulting a fellow recruit in the manner that he had, Gamzee would be spending fourteen day-cycles in solitary. To think about what he had done, and attain the appropriate contrition. The Military had no intention of dissuading their recruits from such appropriately violent impulses, but insisted that they be properly directed toward only the targets established by the empire.  
  
Karkat descended the steps to the punishment block and exchanged a salute with the desk sergeant on duty, moving unmolested into the long corridor lined with cells toward the one containing his erstwhile moirail. On the way he saw another solider headed in the same direction and bristled. He sped up and called out, and the soldier turned unabashedly to face him. She was dressed in the matte black coveralls of the psyche department, with two pips on the piping of each shoulder. Karkat felt a wave of relief that, at least on paper, he outranked the female. She was his height, well formed with sturdy limbs that spoke of someone who could have chosen the more glorious path of a fighter had she wanted to. That bothered Karkat, he stored up a special well of derision for those who joined the medical corps because they wanted to rather then through some fundamental deficiency making true service impossible.  
  
Karkat snapped a salute at the psyche specialist and she returned it. He made a point of holding his salute for a second or two, forcing her to remain at attention until he lowered his hand. It was a small matter of establishing rank and, therefore, dominance.  
“Sir,” she said silkily.  
“What are you doing down here, lance-corporal?”  
“Violent prisoner. I'm here to do a psyche-consult, sir.”  
“Which prisoner?”  
“Makara, sir.”  
Karkat's heart sank. He glanced momentarily at her name patch across the left breast of her uniform.  
“I see. Haplie, is it?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Who ordered you down here?”  
“Standard procedure. Sir.” She paused slightly before the 'sir.' It might have been nothing, it might not. “Psyche consult for violent prisoners potentially not suitable for normal service.”  
“Lance-corporal! I asked you who ORDERED you down here not what your PROCEDURES are!”  
Karkat fell back on what he knew, and what worked for him- yelling.  
“Sir! No orders, just... standard procedure! Sir!”  
“Standard procedure my glorious ASS lance-corporal, my recruit took down an enemy in two fucking SECONDS with the best fist work I saw this side of my last fucking ALL NIGHTER, and you are not going to fuck that wondrous hateFUCKery up with your FUCKING psyche BULL SHIT!”  
“SIR!” Shouted lance-corporal Haplie, visibly wilting, “I have to abide by standard op-”  
“TAKE two steps back reach around and unFUCK yourSELF lance-corporal! I will come down on you like the END FUCKING TIMES if you continue that sentence!”  
Karkat deliberately went quiet, glaring her down balefully. Daring her to say anything. Any word. He was ready for whatever she could conceivably come back with and she knew it. She did the only thing she could think of, which was to salute rigidly and come to attention. Karkat nodded in satisfaction.  
“DO you RECEIVE the fucking SIGNAL I am SENDING lance-corporal? Recruit Makara is under my command and will STAY so till I sign dotted fucking line saying he's trained!”  
“Sir!”  
“Lance-corporal!”  
“Sir!”  
“Tell the psyche department. I run my recruits hard. I make them into bad-ass murderfuckers who have no FUCKS left to give, and so help me the next time I see psyche sniffing around my glorious HELL-FUCKERS like this I will show my men how to pop a fucking femoro-patellar tendon like a banjo string, DO I make myself CRYSTAL limpid pool fucking moon water distilled CLEAR?”  
“SIR!”  
“That's what I THOUGHT. MOVE it lance-corporal before I send you home with a NEW HOLE!”  
“SIR!”  
  
Karkat watched her go and breathed a sigh of utter relief. He had overstepped the bounds and he knew it. As the sergeant in charge of recruit Makara's training he had the final word over his flesh and soul, of course, but he had directly ordered a psyche specialist to go against standard procedures and it took a brave troll indeed to go against the grain of standard operating procedure. He had to restrain himself from shaking as he approached Gamzee's cell and thumbed the plate to open the doorway.  
  
Gamzee was sat on the bench which doubled as a bed in the cell, the only form of comfort provided. There was a stamped metal toilet and ablution cubicle in the corner, and the chain linking his heavy steel collar to the wall had just enough give for him to reach it. Across from the bed was a small table, also bolted to the wall, bearing writing implements and standard issue eating utensils. The door itself required no elaborate locking mechanism as there was no way for the prisoner to reach it, and even if he attempted escape there weren't many options after that. Karkat glanced around; the room looked as empty and spotless as an empty cell, if it were not for the fact of Gamzee sat calmly staring at him then there would be no evidence anyone had been here. Karkat stared right back at Gamzee and though his eyes were open Gamzee was not looking at him, or indeed anything. His gaze was focussed on a point far distant in space, and time.  
  
Karkat leaned over and snapped his fingers a few times. Slowly, Gamzee's eyes seemed to fade back into the present, and swivelled to regard him directly.  
“Sir,” he said softly. His voice was raw and cracked from lack of fluids.  
“Recruit Makara,” whispered Karkat. “Gamzee?”  
“Sir.”  
“Do you... recognise me?”  
“Yes sir, Sergeant Vantas, sir.”  
“Is that all?”  
Gamzee closed his eyes, he seemed to flinch as if stung for a moment, and nodded his head silently.  
  
Karkat straightened up and went to the door, listening carefully for a moment in silence. He satisfied himself that there was no possibility of interruption and moved closer, sitting next to Gamzee on the bed and meeting his eye level.  
“Gamzee,” he whispered insistently, “it's me. It's Karkat!”  
“I'm gettin' so many visitors today,” said Gamzee slowly.  
“What do you mean? Who's been here?”  
“The Highblood,” said Gamzee, smiling a slow, warm smile that sent prickles up and down Karkat's spine, “the ole Grand Highblood came in here to see me. He said things to me about how I need t' remember the ways. He said I'm still a Subjugglator, an' everything else is just a dream. He said it's all just the tricks reality plays on yore mind.”  
Karkat frowned, “was there anything else?”  
“Sure. They sent in an officer from psyche,” Karkat grimaced. So Haplie was just following up on the evaluation that had already begun when he sent her away, “an' you know what she said?”  
“What did she say, Gamzee.”  
“She said that the ole Grand Highblood was the dream, and all of this is the reality in fact. I figure, they ought to work it out between them,” he chuckled weakly.  
  
Karkat  reached our warily and touched the back of Gamzee's head, gently stroking his fingertips through unruly curls of hair. Gamzee didn't move, or say anything.  
“Well, what do you think Gamzee?”  
Gamzee's head turned so sharply Karkat almost jumped, his fingertips were traced across Gamzee's cheek.  
“I think, nmm,” he pondered the point carefully, and he took a deep breath to keep his voice from quavering, “I think if this was real then you wouldn't be here, best friend.”  
  
Karkat nearly bit through his lip, his fingers were numb as they touched Gamzee's chin. His moirail was just staring at him with a longing that broke Karkat's heart, and all the more for the fact that he now realised Gamzee was almost entirely divorced from reality.  
“You need,” said Karkat slowly, “to get it together, Gamzee. You have to pull yourself together!”  
“I dunno about all that. I don't think I can change any of it none. I mean it's like... life, man. It's all around you and what can you do? You don't get to pick which bits are real and which are just a dream. All you can do is go along with it.”  
“No! Gamzee you can fight! You can come back to me!”  
“Hey, Karkat?”  
“Yes Gamzee?”  
“I don't wanna wake up from you. Even if I'm dreaming in hell, at least you're here.”  
“Fuck. Gamzee. Gamzee! I really need you to... stop being a crazy fucking clown for once! I can't protect you when you're like this Gamzee, you have to put your shit back together. Can you do that for me?”  
“I dunno.”  
  
Karkat squeezed his eyes shut and tried to marshal his thoughts, and he tried a different tactic.  
“Gamzee, do you remember why you're in here? In solitary?”  
“Sure,” he drawled, “I couldn't just let sarge kill Foxard, wouldn't be right,”  
“You want to protect your fellow recruits, soldier?”  
Gamzee stiffened slightly, “sir,”  
  
Karkat gritted his teeth and tried to do his best not to cry. He no compunction about tears, he had seen strong soldiers reduced to whimpering panting things with terrible injuries. He knew that a broken body could break a soldier and there was no dishonour in that. He remembered how he had bawled when he took a round to the kidney on the last tour. Before the medical team reached him he had been screaming till the drugs from a comrade's field kit took effect. This was a different kind of pain though, that he had put behind him and thought never to revisit. These were traitor-tears and he could not allow them for a moment.  
  
“Gamzee,” he whispered, “you're right, it's a dream. It's like the Grand Highblood told you.”  
“I know, man,”  
“I'm here to say goodbye, and then I'll be gone again.”  
“I know.”  
“You will be back with the recruits soon. And you got to make sure you don't tell anyone about your dreams, they wouldn't understand. You get me? Not a word.”  
Gamzee looked up slowly, “hey, best friend?”  
“Gamzee?”  
“Are we gonna see each other again?”  
“I,” he paused, he sobbed once, “I don't think we will,”  
“That's okay,” Gamzee nodded, “that's okay. Let it go, man.”  
  
Karkat stood up. He turned around, and he walked out again without saying a word.  
  
When group captain Zahaak let sergeant Vantas into his office, he smiled and nodded, indicating a seat for him. Karkat stumbled in and nearly tripped, collapsing into the chair. Equius frowned and shut his door, after activating the signal to indicate he was not to be disturbed.  
  
He held Karkat against his chest while he cried. In racking, sobbing half-sentences Karkat told him what had happened. He buried his face against the rough material of Equius' military blouson and let it all out at once. Gamzee was truly gone from him, his mind was elsewhere. And Karkat could have fought for him and clawed at him to come back, but he hadn't. Equius stared down at the top of Karkat's head stonily and nodded in understanding.  
  
“How is Gamzee now?”  
“He's a solder,” moaned Karkat, “a good soldier who cares about his comrades,”  
“That's how it should be. A solder can survive.”  
“He's not himself any more!”  
  
Equius tucked a finger under Karkat's chin and insistently raised his face, “maybe. But none of us really are. We're alive though, and so is he. You gave him a chance to live.”  
“You were wrong about me. I gave up on him.”  
“You let the past go. He's not your young moirail now, he's one of your men.”  
Karkat stared up at him with tears flowing freely, “what have I done, Equius?”  
Equius sighed, “it's what I had to do, when I trained you. I know it hurts but I think, one day, you'll forgive yourself.”  
“How did you get through this?”  
Equius thought about it. “I was never very good... with people. I always preferred robots, really. I don't think I feel things as much as you do.”  
Karkat lowered his face again, there was no answer to that.  
  
At the first bell of wake-cycle on the appointed date the renovations were completed. Senior staff were given updated manual for the new gear that had been fitted, and the shakedown tests were run without incident. The next tour could begin.  
  
The recruits lined up for inspection. Each unit was present with their sergeant, and they represented by group captain Equius Zahaak, stood rigidly to attention at the left flank of the battalion. The command staff of the ship were arranged on a raised dais opposite them, and watched disinterestedly as the men went through their drills and demonstrated their readiness for combat. It was a purely ceremonial occasion but it was written  in the procedures and therefore it was carried out perfectly. At the appointed time the word was given, and the sergeants stepped forwards smartly, came to attention and turned to their men. As one they gave the command and the recruits saluted in perfect synchronisation. They all made a ninety degree turn, and began to file out. They were, in the eyes of the Alternian military, from that moment on full soldiers and a section of the war machine that would make its' way ever outwards from the mother world to conquests new. Karkat stood rigidly straight but his eyes roamed and he caught sight of Gamzee, marching with his brothers and sisters in perfect lockstep. He would fight alongside them and protect them, just as they were equally committed to protect him.  
  
 Around them the great ship hummed and throbbed with energy as the vast engines came to speed and lifted her from orbit. They were aimed into the darkness and flung outwards to their war. Fate, and the military, and their blood, demanded it. They would return in time and those who survived would be recognised as veterans. Some would go back to fight again, some would stay and heal as best they were able to, and hope for another chance to fight. Regardless of their past and their blood the military took them all together as one. The order was given, and the Alternian battleship _Empress Feferi_ left the place of their births and loves and losses behind.


End file.
